Hogwarts: a history?
by goat perdition
Summary: Snape and someone from his past must put their own issues aside if they want to fool the Dark Lord. This is an attempt at an adventure story, but who knows where it will go...
1. An errand of no real importance

Chapter 1:

Dumbledore deftly moved between the cabinet where his pensive sat swirling his innermost thoughts and his desk. A number of mechanical, humming odds and ends stood spinning and blinking across its smooth surface. He sighed pushing them carefully out of his way, before he sat and began scratching a message onto a bit of parchment. When the potions master appeared out of the shadows, he set his quill down, laced his fingers together in his lap and peered expectantly over the tops of his half moon spectacles.

Severus stood before his desk for a moment. When it became clear that the headmaster was not going to immediately offer up the reason for his being summoned, Snape shifted subtly from one foot to the other, wondering if the elder man remembered that he had asked him there at all.

"You summoned me, headmaster?"

"Ah, yes, Severus, I had wondered if you would be so good as to deliver a message for me." He absently waved a hand over the parchment he had been scribbling on and as he did so, it folded itself several times and floated up into his waiting hand. He shifted it across the desk and offered it to Snape held lightly between his index and middle fingers. "You see, I would like to offer a position to an old friend, but I am expected by the Minister of Magic this morning, so I am unable to take the letter myself. I had hoped you would deliver it for me."

Barely able to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "Surely, delivery by owl would be an acceptable alternative."

"Very well, Severus, seeing as you are far too busy to do this small errand for me, I will ask Minerva to do it in your place."

Snape was silent for a moment. He knew that Albus had chosen him to take the letter for a reason, undoubtedly because he knew this "old friend" of Dumbledore's and while he was disinclined to be a messenger, he also knew that if this "old friend" chose to take the position, it would be an unpleasant surprise to discover exactly who it was later. He weighed the two disagreeable options and decided that the former would be less irksome than the latter.

"There is no need to importune Professor McGonagall, I will take the letter." He took the post and turned it over in his long fingers, dismayed when he found no name for the recipient, only 'M.G.' and the address of 'Sunny Home; End of the Lane; Gabarus, Nova Scotia'. Wracking his memory, Severus was at a loss for who he could possibly know that lived there.

"I would recommend trying your best to look like a muggle when you go there, I understand that they are quite suspicious of unusual people there, Severus. Thank you, now I must be off." As soon as he had finished speaking, he collected a number of papers from a stack beside him and swept past the somewhat startled potions professor. He reexamined the address, hoping it would somehow reveal this "old friend's" identity. He grudgingly followed in Dumbledore's wake, out of the office and into the empty corridors.

As he made his way through the castle, down to the dungeons, he fortunately only encountered a pleasantly quiet Professor Sinistra ambling slowly behind a teetering tower of levitating books, her attention completely focused on keeping them from tumbling, so much so that she did not even offer him her usual cheery morning salutation. This was ideal for him, as he never returned her nauseatingly chipper greeting, in spite of the fact that day after day she offered it and this morning he had other things on his mind. Realizing partway to his quarters that he still had the folded parchment clenched tightly in one hand, he tucked it into one of the folds of his robes and continued on his way.

Grudgingly, he cleaned himself up for his impending journey. He gathered his lank hair at the nape of his neck and tied it back away from his face. Flicking his wand over his shoulder, a chest lurched out from under a stack of books and papers, opening to reveal the only muggle clothes he had. Rummaging in the folded mess of fabric, he swapped his typical black robes for a worn collared shirt, a lumpy woolen sweater and trousers. The clothes hung awkwardly off his shoulders down his slender body. Evidently, his father had been a bit larger than Severus and his clothing managed to make Snape more uncomfortable even than the man himself had. Cinching the belt more tightly to keep his pants up, he gave up on trying to tuck the ends of the shirt in, leaving the tails hanging out beneath the itchy sweater. He seemed reasonably dressed enough to not stand out amongst whatever muggles he might encounter. Shrugging into a massive coat and knotting on some very worn boots, he turned to go. At the door, he paused a moment to knot his own scarf around his neck and put on gloves before pulling an extremely tatty fedora of his fathers low on his head and making his way to Hogsmead where he could apparate to his destination.

With a small pop, he appeared in one of two tracks of dirt that cut through a thick growth of vegetation that blanketed a five foot wide path though an equally thick growth of forest. He had figured that it would be safe to apparate about a half mile from where he would find this 'Sunny Cabin', thus avoiding any warding that the "old friend" might have applied to his home. Cold instantly penetrated his shabby coat. He pulled it tighter around himself and cursed the half mile that he would now have to walk. It must have been five o'clock in the morning. It was still fairly dark, but a nearly full moon cast enough light that he could see everything around him. Choosing the slightly wider of the two tracks, he made his way across the uneven terrain, picking his way around the occasional exposed roots where a tree had grown up right next to his pathway. The trees on either side of the road arched overhead, creating a savage pattern of light and dark on the ground before him where only bits of moonlight could make it though the boughs above. If it hadn't been so damn cold, it might have been a pleasant, even scenic walk. As it was, he stiffly bumbled along the rough dirt, scarf pulled part way over his face, hands jammed as deeply into his pockets as he could get them, where one gloved hand gripped his wand. As he twisted his way through the woods, he searched his mind for any idea who he was about to visit. No matter how he focused on it, his mind would not come up with any witch or wizard he know of settled in the Americas. It was enormously frustrating.

When the trees on either side of the path fell away, he found himself looking at a meticulously attended and very English garden which surrounded a small, stone cottage. He walked through a break in a low wall surrounding the whimsical yard, along a trail of paving stones to the door. As he raised his hand to knock, he instead spun round to investigate a ruckus behind him.

Crashing though the foliage, a black dog darted toward him, tail wagging so hard that the creature seemed unable to run in a straight line to get to him. It circled his knees, a frenzy of movement and wet kisses. It excitedly bumped into his legs, threatening to knock him over more than once. Snape could only get a hand on its back before it was wiggling on the other side of him. He let a corner of his mouth curl up. He righted himself so that he could meet the wild creature's owner.

Just past the edge of the wall, he could see the bulk of a man gliding up the path so smoothly, he was unsure for a moment that the man was actually walking at all. His face and figure were obscured by a heavy, hooded cloak and it was impossible for Snape to determine the exact size of the "old friend" he was about to meet. His numb fingers wrapped more tightly around his still hidden wand. The mysterious stranger paused at the paving stones, having just noticed the muggle man at the door. The dog left Snape to dance lively about the hidden legs of its owner. The cloaked man crouched to attend to the excitable beast, but when he stood and remained still at the end of the stones, Severus removed the hand that held the wand, unsure of how welcome he was at this particular house. The hooded head tilted slightly, obviously surprised that the muggle carried a wand.

"Show yourself." It was an order, not a request.

The figure raised its gloved hands to show that unlike Snape, he had no wand. The hands then went to the sides of the hood, lowering it to reveal a striking, short haired witch.

"You always were rather dramatic, Snape. What are you doing here?"

As she came closer to him, her grey eyes glinting suspiciously at him, he realized why Dumbledore had sent him. Not only did he know her, the two of them had a history. Snape closed his eyes momentarily and cursed Albus under his breath.

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to bring you this." He extended the folded parchment in one hand, hastily shoving the wand into his coat pocket with the other.

"A letter hardly warrants sending one of his professors, I should think. Especially, when he, himself, had already made the trip out here once before. Please tell him that my answer is still no." With that, she swept past him and without turning, he heard her enter the cottage. Rather than hearing the door close, he heard her sigh and turned to see her leaning against the doorframe, sizing him up. "I suppose it would be rude not to ask you in." She turned and slid through the door, shrugging out of the thick cloak and hanging it just inside.

He hesitated. Apart from her hair, she did not seem to have changed; she was still willful and impulsive, but somehow kind in spite of it. Shaking his head, he silently thanked Merlin she had refused the offer, he had no idea how he would manage to live with this woman in his life again. He was unable to see her, as he peered through the open doorway. She must have assumed he would come in when he was ready and wandered off inside to do whatever it was she did these days. He slid through the door, turning to close it quietly behind him. He felt her hand on his shoulder and stiffened involuntarily.

"I only want your coat." She whispered close behind him. He slipped it off and handed it to her. She grasped it with one hand, offering him a glass of amber liquid with the other. He took the glass and she gently hung his coat beside hers on a row of pegs along the wall. She slipped further into the house. He hastily removed his hat, scarf and gloves and laid them on a chair beneath the pegs. That being done, he took in the interior of the cottage, the home of his old schoolmate, Medean Grace.


	2. Awkward politeness

Chapter 2:

The room he was standing in was very small indeed. Two of its walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves, all full with more books stacked sideways on top of them. The wall behind him with the door held a large window with a bench beneath it. The last wall had an archway that led to what appeared to be a kitchen and another door, he assumed must lead to a bedroom. He could only conjecture, however, because it was closed. She disappeared through the archway, leaving him to inspect her home at his leisure, a gesture that reminded him that she not only knew him entirely too well, but also trusted him to peruse the things she most closely surrounded herself with. He turned his attention back to the living room or study that he was in. In the corner, there was a fire blazing in the fireplace with two tall wing backed chairs before it, and a small table between them, also piled with books. The chairs were flanked by discarded novels and bits of parchment. Wherever a novel couldn't fit on a shelf, it was stacked along with others like it. There were stacks in front of the bookcases, here and there about the room, on top of or alongside each bit of furniture. Glancing over once such tower close to him, he lifted several old tomes to reveal a number of folded star charts, an ancient map covered with runes that was so musty and old he set it down immediately for fear of it disintegrating in his hands. As he made his way through the literature littering the room, he stopped before one of the massive bookshelves. It surprised him to find it had been meticulously placed in alphabetical order. Even the titles wedged into the empty spaces were alphabetical. There didn't appear to be any organization by genre, however, which interested him. He had unthinkingly set down his glass to take a better look at some of the titles, when he heard her again sneak up behind him. She lifted the glass and placed a coaster beneath it.

"You don't drink scotch anymore, Snape?"

"Its 6 o'clock, Medean."

Ignoring him, she sank into one of the high backed chairs, folding her legs in front of her and resting her chin on her knees. "How was the journey here?"

"Uneventful. The lane to get here was-," he struggled to find the right word, "-charming." That wasn't what he had meant at all. Miserable, bleak, freezing- all would have been accurate descriptions in his mind, but insulting her when she was being so hospitable would have been truly detestable.

"I was surprised that you chose to walk that far, and in a chill like this morning's."

"And I was equally surprised to find no warding around your home. Had I known you would be so lax in your security, I might have apparated into this very room."

"Warding is how they found a great deal of us after the fall. I have not forgotten, even after all this time and there are some things that I would prefer not to explain if they would decide to raid my home."

He was unsure as to whether her reference to 'they' meant Death Eaters or the Ministry. Either way, he imagined they could both find questionable things that would be awkward for her to explain. As he stood before the bookcase, she watched him with her head tilted to one side. Her pitifully short hair fell over one of her stormy eyes ending just above the tip of her nose. She appeared to be sleeker than when he had last seen her. He supposed that it might have been the decade that had passed since he had last seen her. Or perhaps her year long stay in Azkaban had thinned her out. Her clothing was bland and although it could not be described as tight, it seemed to highlight the curves of her body in a way that he was forcing himself to ignore. He hastily strode to the empty chair and lowered himself into it. She uncurled herself, retrieved his glass from the shelf and set it and the coaster atop the books on the table. As she set the lowball on the precarious pile, he let his eyes glide down the soft weave of her hastily pushed up sweater sleeve, over the pale expanse of exposed forearm, pausing momentarily at the all too familiar skull and serpent tattoo before continuing down her slender fingers. Instead of ending at the offered scotch glass, as intended, his attention was caught by the thin band of gold that encircled her third finger. His brow knit and his eyes instantly went to hers. She steadily returned his gaze until he turned away from her.

Rather than returning to the chair, she picked her way across the room, opened the door that had been closed and turned back to him. "I must apologize, I hadn't anticipated your arrival and am obligated to leave you on your own for a while. Make yourself at home when I am gone. I've laid out towels and there are clean linens on the bed. However long your traveling has been, I am sure you must be tired. The kitchen is just through the arch. I will be back in several hours." As she made this speech, she was wrapping herself back in the cloak and pulling on thick mittens. She clunked into her heavy boots. "Here, Pollux." The excitable dog came barreling out of the kitchen to her side and they were gone into the brightening morning.

He was left to ponder if she really had an engagement, or if what had passed between them had been awkward enough to necessitate her departure. Snape shook his head, thinking of what a bad idea it had been to have stayed after he had delivered the letter. She hadn't been anything but polite about his being there, however, and he soon convinced himself that she must have had a prior obligation. Perhaps she had forgotten the past and put it behind her. They were now, evidently, indifferent acquaintances. Although he was perplexed about the ring. While he pondered, he picked up the glass, swirled its contents, raised it to his lips and downed it in one gulp. He placed it back on its coaster and went to the open door.

A lamp was glowing from a vanity across the room. He poured water from a ceramic pitcher into a small basin and cleaned himself up a bit. Feeling refreshed, he removed the terrible sweater and tossed it over the back of the chair containing her neatly folded towels. He yanked off his boots and socks, kicking them beside that same chair. Pulling back the sheets and blanket, he fell onto the wonderfully soft pillows and was immediately engulfed in the aroma of her. It was fresh, clean, slightly floral with an earthy undertone. She had smelled like that since she was young. He drifted immediately into an exhausted, heavy sleep.


End file.
